The Cold
by katamuro11
Summary: The effect of the mark on human mage Jon. Contains mature elements


The wine tastes of nothing as it goes down his throat. The braised mutton might as well be dirt. The fire in front of him does warm him up, the icy wind pushing against his back does not make him cold. It has been weeks since Jon felt anything but the cold fire coming out of the mark, at first it burned like real fire, those first days, most of which he does not remember, now the cold fire has spread like frozen steel needles through his body.

"That is some good meat Herald! Didn't I tell you that I know how to cook a proper travel meal?" Varric pats him on the shoulder. Strange man Varric, he obviously dislikes Cassandra and doesn't trust most of the others but he still says.

"Yes Varric and I must admit it is a fine meal." A lie, necessary, no one must know that he might as well chew on shoe-leather, it is good that he at least remembers how to eat as if you like the food, as if you are hungry.

They are on their way back to Haven from the Hinterlands, had to kick both the rogue templars and mages out of there.

Cassandra was impressed by his actions in battle. Especially when they got surrounded by half a dozen templars, cancelling out his magic, instead of trying to get out of the reach of their abilities he stood and fought, using his staff as a spear, keeping them off Cassandra's back as Varric and Solas were finishing up with another squad of templars.

It is good that Master Harrit makes sturdy armour, several of templar blows landed across his ribs and shoulders. He didn't notice that in the battle, Cassandra commended him on holding his ground despite such injuries, she didn't know that he simply does not feel the pain. Its just a pressure now on his skin, nothing more.

Jon is not afraid of the mark, the Breach or the demons. Not anymore. All his life as a mage he had been told to be afraid of the demons, to guard constantly against them. To remain vigilant. These days the only thing that he is afraid is letting others know how much the mark has done.

"Is the mark bothering you?" Solas asks, another curious man, an elf apostate now fighting alongside Andrastian Inquisition and the man known as the Herald of Andraste. He knows much about the fade and seemed to guess the possible use of the mark before anyone else.

"No, I am just a bit tired." a good excuse, he wonders if Solas would understand how little pain means to him anymore, because what mark has done can not be described as pain. Not anymore.

Two days later they are back at Haven, one of the chantry sisters that stayed there insisted on inspecting his wounds. Her experienced hands are probing around his ribs, prodding and pushing. She is pretty and normally feeling the warmth and the softness of her hands would excite him. But all he feels is the cold coming from inside. She smears some kind of ointment and then bandages his ribs again.

"Next time leave catching blows to someone who has a shield or thicker armour. You were lucky only two ribs were broken, three others cracked but held. Now you must rest, in bed."she tries to sound commanding but she is younger than him, nearly a decade younger, just an initiate and despite her professional demeanour he could see her cheeks blushing slightly as she examined him. He offers her to make sure of that, if she stays in bed with him. Her moans that night were muffled by her own hand, her body arcing under his, sweat dripping despite the draft in his house here at Haven. She fell asleep quickly afterwards. He just pretended to sleep. He had wondered if such an encounter would chase the cold away. He was wrong. He wondered if that is what it feels to be tranquil, this overpowering cold drowning out everything human. But he is not tranquil, he is still a mage, his spells as powerful as ever and growing more so since he now uses them in real combat.

Cullen frowns as he comes by his house to wake him, he sees the chantry robe on the floor and the girl in the bed. Jon dresses quickly, he needs to attend the meeting to decide what to do next. As they walk out of the house and step just outside the ear shot of a pair of soldiers Cullen turns around.

"Lateya is only 18, she joined the chantry after her home got devastated in the blight, she is an initiate, she does not need complications that would come out of your union, even if its a brief one."

Jon knows he should be angry with Cullen about his presumption, and about what he did not say but implied. She does not need a child with mage blood. But he is not angry, he is not even a little annoyed. To feel those you need to have heat. All he has is the cold.

"You are right, but I took precautions that would prevent any such surprises. Magical in nature so they actually work. And I wasn't her first and we were both clear on what we wanted."

"Oh, right," Cullen was surprised by Jon's answer, "follow me then."

Jon wondered if Leliana would say something similar or if she is going to remain silent, no doubt knowing everything there is to know about Jon's life. He wondered if Leliana would understand if he told her, or if she knows already but keeps it to herself. What if she thinks its for the best, Herald of Andraste who cannot be tempted by food, drink and women.


End file.
